Classic Poem

Still I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.

Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses seek, I emulous follow
Prints in the marbles of yore.

Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to beget—
Young song birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.

Thoughts? no thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammelled so vilely in verse;
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.